What the Stories Say
by MapleandPheonixFeather
Summary: For three years, Oliver Wood was an important part of Hermione's life. He had been there through all the fights, the tears, and the seemingly endless piles of homework. He was her constant when all else fell through. And now he is leaving. Nominated for the Non-Canon Romance QSQ over at MNFF.


She didn't think that him leaving would hurt this much. She'd always thought that he'd finish Hogwarts, get a job, and they'd both just move on with their lives. Perhaps a few owls here and there, but surely, goodbye would be easy, natural even. But as she sat beside him and he told her that this was probably the last time they'd see each other, because he had to go and see his grandmother in Scotland, she could feel the prickle of tears starting to form behind her eyes. This wasn't supposed to be the last time; he was supposed to stick around for the rest of the week.

Harry glanced at her from across the table. "Are you okay?" he mouthed at her, seeing the sadness in her eyes. Hermione nodded, not wanting to admit that she was about to cry over the fact that a seventh-year was leaving. He was three years older than her, for goodness' sake! Hermione was fourteen and Oliver was seventeen; it was a large age gap. Hermione sat there, listening, as he told her about how he'd be back for the end of year feast, and that they could say goodbye there.

"Perhaps, but what are the chances of me actually seeing you that day?" Hermione inquired. She was growing tired, and she now had to go up to the dormitories. She didn't think she could sit here any longer without crying, which was something she didn't want him to see. But how do you say goodbye to the boy who told you what to expect in terms of school and exams, who made your third year bearable, memorable, even?

She honestly didn't know, and she didn't think she ever would know; all she knew was she was not ready to handle the situation at hand. "Well, good luck, and be sure to owl me every now and then," Hermione said. "I really need some sleep, though, so I guess this goodbye." Hermione turned and walked up the stairs to her dormitories, feeling as though there were a million different things she could have, ishould have,/i said.

She slowly undressed and slipped into her nightgown, trying with all her might not to cry. As she lowered herself into bed, she felt defeated, as if her whole world was falling apart. With her head down on her pillow, she let herself cry, hoping that the tears would loll her into a dreamless sleep, in which all visions of him, of ithem/i, would disappear.

It was fruitless. Hermione tossed and turned in her bed, reliving every moment of their friendship, unable to let it go, unable to fully comprehend that he was really leaving her, and that their time was done.

Hermione was miserable. She had just been accepted into this wondrous world, a world where unicorns frolicked, where brooms flew, and where magic actually existed, and yet she hated it. She had no friends, and everyone thought she was simply a bossy know-it-all. She even found it hard to relate to her roommates. They had grown up in this world, and they had known of all the mysteries before they came here, whereas Hermione was still learning as she went. In order to make herself feel as if she fit in, she had spent all summer learning as much as she possibly could about the Wizarding world, making sure she could handle all of the material they would be covering. Apparently, this made her a know-it-all.

During the second week, she was walking up the stairs on her way to Transfiguration. Without warning, the stairs moved, so that Hermione no longer knew where she was going. She began to panic. None of the rooms in the corridor she had ended up in looked familiar.

She couldn't be late, not now. The only things she had at this school were her grades and the good impressions she had left on the teachers thus far. She continued to wander the halls, looking for a familiar face or familiar door that may aid her in finding her classroom. The only familiar thing was the ticking of her watch as the minutes passed, bringing her closer and closer to being late.

Hermione glanced at her watch. She had exactly seven minutes until her lesson started. She tried the next door, which wouldn't open. She turned around and walked down the hall aimlessly. There was no way she was getting to class on time. She'd be lucky to make it down to the Great Hall for dinner on time, she was so lost.

Defeated, she sank to the floor next to a statue of a one-armed witch. Her head fell into her hands, and her shoulders shook as silent tears wracked her body. Her perfect attendance was done. They would have thought she was skiving, and McGonagall would probably take away house points for missing a class without reason.

"You're awfully close to the forbidden third floor corridor, you know. Did you manage to get in, only to find your greatest fear behind the door?"

A surprised Hermione opened her eyes to see a pair of worn and rather large trainers in front of her.

"I'm living my worst fear," she muttered.

"Oh, come on now," the deep Scottish voice said. "Why don't you get up and tell me all about it and I'll try to help?" He extended his hand to her, and she took it.

"So, what's this fear you're living?"

Hermione blushed, but, realising her situation could get no worse, she decided to spill. "The stairs moved; I have no idea where my Transfiguration class is, and I'm going to be late."

The boy chuckled. "That's your worst fear? McGonagall is hard and all, but she isn't going to penalise a first-year for getting lost. Come on, I'll take you to the classroom, and we'll see if we can get you there on time."

Hermione tentatively smiled. They walked side by side down the hall and down two flights of stairs. The boy asked her about her various studies, and they eventually stopped in front of her classroom.

"Look, you made it with one minute to spare."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." The boy smiled and turned to leave, but Hermione stopped him. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Wood," the boy answered. "But that's Oliver to you."

"I'm Hermione." She smiled one last time and went into the classroom.

hr

Oliver sat down with Hermione on the couch as she was reading a book.

"Quidditch Through the Ages, eh? Do you like Quidditch?"

"No."

"You don't like Quidditch?"

Hermione looked up at his flabbergasted face. "Sorry, I mean, no, I don't know; I've never seen a game."

"You've never seen a game of Quidditch?" Oliver looked as if he had never heard such nonsense.

"Well, I'm Muggleborn. I grew up watching football with my dad."

"That sounds as if you run around kicking a ball."

Hermione giggled. "That's pretty much it." Oliver snorted. "So do you like it?"

"What, football? Because, quite honestly, it sounds stupid."

Hermione grinned. "Not football, Quidditch."

"Like it? I'm captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team! You have to come to our first game. Well, if we find a Seeker, that is."

"You should get on that, then; they're only the single most important player on a team."

"You do know Quidditch!" Oliver looked quite excited at the thought.

"I've only been reading this book all day; I'd better have picked something up."

"Why have you been reading that all day if you hate Quidditch?"

"I don't hate Quidditch, Oliver; I just haven't seen a game. And we have our first flying lesson tomorrow. With the Slytherins."

"A book isn't going to help you with that; you know that, right?"

"I can try," Hermione snapped.

"Well, if you want to learn to fly, I could take you flying sometime."

"No, I'd rather not fly if I can help it. I don't like heights."

Oliver looked at her. "You can't be a witch and not know how to fly. How about I take you flying this weekend?"

Hermione considered the offer and smiled. "I'll think about it."

hr

"Guess what? We found a Seeker, so you can come and watch us play now!"

Hermione glanced up from her Charms homework. "So I've heard," she said dryly.

Oliver was too excited to pick up on her negative tone. "So; on Saturday, we have a practice; do you want to go flying afterwards?"

"If it means I have to see a certain Harry Potter, then no."

"What does Potter have to do with it?"

"Well, considering the fact that he and his friend nearly got me and some other student killed, I'm not all too fond to see him."

"Well, then." Oliver awkwardly scratched his neck then sat across from Hermione. "What are you working on?"

"A Charms essay. It's nearly finished."

"Well, do you need any help?"

"No, it's fairly simple, really."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll just ... go, then. Percy's supposed to look over my Transfiguration essay, anyway."

Hermione nodded. Oliver began to stand.

"Oh, Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Offering flying lessons, trying to help with my essay, being a friend."

Oliver awkwardly shuffled his feet and blushed. "It's my pleasure."

hr

Hermione was perusing through the books in the modern history section of the library. She glanced at the titles, pulling out any book that showed promise. A title caught her eye, and she pulled it out, flipping to the index.

"iMagical Developments in the Twentieth Century/i? What could you possibly be researching in that? You don't study modern history until your NEWTs."

Hermione snapped the book shut. "Uh, nothing, just a bit of light reading."

Oliver glanced at the humungous tome. "Light reading, right." Hermione blushed. "So..."

"So, what?"

"Quidditch! What did you think of it?"

"It looks pretty dangerous, actually. We won, though; that's good!"

"Dangerous? It's a sport, they're all dangerous."

"Hmm." Hermione flipped to the page that the index had indicated for Nicolas Flamel. iEli Lickser continued to follow in Flamel's footsteps.../i Having found nothing of interest, she slammed the book shut and put it back. "You're right; it's a bit dry for light reading."

"How about this one?" He handed her iThe History of the Broomstick/I.

Hermione giggled. "Right." Oliver turned to put the book back on the shelf. "So, about flying lessons. Do you think that maybe we could try after Christmas?"

If Oliver was surprised at the sudden outburst, he didn't show it. "Of course."

hr

"Are you ready?"

"No!" Hermione squeaked.

"It's okay; it's natural to feel nervous the first time." Hermione glared. "All right, so you can go in front of me. Straddle the broomstick and grip it with both hands." She did so. "Okay, so we are just going to hover a few inches above the ground." Oliver lightly kicked off, and the two of them were suspended above the ground. "Okay, good; now, we are going to fly." Hermione looked at him in alarm. "You can't learn to fly without actually doing so, you know."

"I'll just learn it from a book."

"It's not something you can learn from a book, Hermione. It's like dancing; you learn as you go."

"But what if I fall?"

"Don't worry, I won't let you."

They began to fly, starting close to the ground. Oliver's arms reached around Hermione, holding the broomstick slightly in front of her hands, steering as they went along. Once Hermione had released the tension from her shoulders, he took one hand from the broomstick.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you steer."

"Are you mental? We'll crash!"

"No we won't. I'm here; I'll be able to take control if you lose it."

Soon, they were flying around the pitch. Slowly, shakily, but yes, she was flying. She was learning to take chances.

hr

"That was an amazing game! I can't believe that Harry caught the Snitch that fast!"

"That was the game plan."

"You may convert me to Quidditch yet."

hr

"How's Harry doing?"

"Madame Pomfrey said he'll be fine once he wakes up, as long as he doesn't do anything too heroic or strenuous for the next little while."

"Do you think he'll be ready for the game tomorrow?"

Hermione smiled. "I think that would count as both heroic and strenuous. Honestly, he'll be lucky to be awake, I think."

"We are so screwed."

Hermione shoved his arms. "Come on, you've still got three amazing Chasers, two relentless Beaters, and..."

"And me."

"And you, a simply marvellous Keeper." Hermione blushed. "You still have some sort of chance."

"You do know that only the Seeker can catch the Snitch, right?"

"But the Chasers can still score points. And the Keeper can prevent the other team from getting any."

hr

"You were wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"We still lost."

"I didn't say that you would win; I simply said that you had a chance at winning." Hermione smirked.

"It was Gryffindor's worst loss in three hundred years!"

"Well, if someone hadn't let in so many Quaffles..."

Oliver glared down at Hermione, who simply shrugged. "What? It's true!"

Oliver ruffled Hermione's hair. "So, I heard some more information regarding the whole Quirrel thing."

"Oh?"

"I heard that you, Ron, and Harry managed to capture Flitwick's key. By flying."

Hermione blushed. "Well, Harry was the real star there."

"But you flew."

"Yeah, I flew."

hr

Hermione cast a worried glance around the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ron had yet to arrive, and she was beyond worried. Percy was rambling on about the number of OWLs he had got and how Ron was showing signs of taking the "twins'" path.

"I'm sure they just missed the train. They're probably arranging alternate arrangements now," Oliver comforted her, as she fiddled with her food.

"Really? Because McGonagall is here, and Snape isn't. Knowing Ron and Harry, they did something stupid."

Oliver chucked. "Well, McGonagall is leaving now, and Dumbledore has just told the prefects to bring the first years to their dormitories, so I guess we should go."

Hermione looked around again and sighed. "I suppose you're right." The two stood up and began to climb the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower. "Oh, I completely forgot to ask, how did your OWLs go?"

"I got seven, but I'm continuing in Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh, I'm so excited for Defence this year!" Hermione exclaimed. "It will be really great studying with someone who's actually fought them, don't you think?"

"You just think he's cute, don't you?"

Hermione blushed. "So, what are you going to do with those OWLs?"

Oliver looked at her. "I really just want to play Quidditch."

"What do your parents think about that?"

"Well, my dad was the one who introduced me to the sport. He wanted to play, but he suffered a back injury during tryouts for a team. It healed properly and everything, but the Healers told him that he'd never play again. Then I came along, and being a professional Quidditch player isn't the best job for a dad."

"Aren't you scared that you'll hurt yourself?"

"I'm stronger than my dad was, and I don't ever want to live my life regretting I didn't try."

They had reached the Gryffindor common room, just as Percy and the first-years had arrived. Hermione looked around. She still did not see Ron and Harry.

"Hey, the portrait's open, you know."

"Oh, it's okay; I forgot something in the Great Hall. I should probably go and get it."

Hermione turned around and walked towards the Great Hall in hopes of finding Harry and Ron along the way. She was walking around when a Hufflepuff stopped her.

"So, I hear that your two friends got expelled for crashing a flying car."

Deciding that the rumour was ridiculous, she left the Hufflepuff. Her search had been fruitless, and rather than continue to stroll the corridors with curfew fast approaching, she decided to head back to the dormitories and talk to them in the morning.

Luck, it seemed, was on her side this time. She had just arrived at the portrait hole to see Harry and Ron standing outside of the entrance.

"iThere/i you are! Where have you ibeen/i? The most iridiculous,/i rumours – someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying icar/i."*

hr

Hermione was sitting by the fire completing her homework. Oliver plopped down into the chair beside her.

"Where're Harry and Ron?"

"They're in detention tonight for flying the car," Hermione replied, not taking her eyes off of her homework.

"You know, you could give them a break. Don't you think that being harassed by Snape and serving detention is punishment enough? They don't need their best friend mad at them too."

Hermione looked up, shock written across her face. "You know, you're probably right." They sat in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the scratch of quill against parchment. Oliver finally broke the silence.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I meant from what happened at Quidditch practice this morning."

"Oh. That. Yeah, I'm fine. I honestly didn't know what that word meant. I knew it was rude, but until Hagrid had explained it, I had no idea, so it didn't really bother me all that much. Besides, it's Malfoy; why would I care about what he thinks of me?"

hr

Hermione walked into the Gryffindor common room to see Oliver sitting alone in a corner, looking solemn and stressed.

"Is everything all right?"

"It's all my fault; I shouldn't have told him to get the Snitch or die trying."

"An hour ago, you were telling him it was his most spectacular catch to date."

"I should have called off the match and had them investigate the Bludger."

"You were just in the hospital wing. You saw that he was going to be fine. His bones are re-growing as we speak, so no harm has been done. Within the next twenty-four hours, he'll be good as new. Stop kicking yourself over it. Harry wouldn't have let you call off the match anyway."

Oliver cracked a smile. "You're right. He wouldn't have. Actually, he was the one who insisted on playing. And it was a pretty spectacular catch. He managed to catch the Snitch right from under Malfoy's nose, and with a broken arm at that. We definitely showed the Slytherins that the broom you have doesn't matter; rather, it's the players on the broom."

"Besides, it's not really your fault; if Lockhart hadn't removed his bones, he'd be with us right now."

"That's true too."

"And you put us in the lead for the House Cup. Your chances of winning the Quidditch Cup this year are looking brighter than ever!"

Oliver looked at Hermione with a large grin on his face. "You're right. I should stop moping, shouldn't I?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes. Now go and celebrate with the rest of your team."

hr

"Did you know that Harry was a Parseltongue?"

Hermione sighed. "No, I didn't, and neither did he, apparently, though I really wish people would stop asking me about it."

"Well, it's really improving our chances for the Quidditch Cup."

Hermione looked at Oliver with both surprise and scepticism. "How?"

"Everyone is so bloody scared of Harry that they won't touch him."

"How does that help?"

"Well, they probably won't go after him during a game."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right."

"You just wait until the first game after Christmas, Hermione, and then you'll see how much it helps."

hr

Hermione was joyfully eating her food with Harry and the rest of the Weasleys.

"So, besides the whole Tom Riddle thing, what did I miss?"

"They cancelled Quidditch after you were Petrified," George stated.

"

"You should have seen Oliver; we had never seen him so depressed," Fred continued.

"So Fred told him to brighten up, and that it was only a game."

"But he seemed more concerned with the Mandrakes than the fact that Quidditch was cancelled."

"Fred thought he fancied that Ravenclaw prefect."

"Oh? And what did he say to that?" Hermione asked.

"He said he didn't, but he had to be lying, because the only other girl that was Petrified was you, and we know that there is no way he likes blokes or cats."

Neither of the twins noticed the blush that had crept up Hermione's neck.

hr

Hermione was sitting by the fire, books stacked on the table in front of her. It was only the first week back, and she already had homework in almost every subject. A hand reached in front of her and snatched the timetable that was in front of her. She looked to see Oliver looking down at her paper in disbelief.

"Are you mental? There is no way you are taking every single course that Hogwarts offers."

"Well, I am."

"The last person to do that was Bill Weasley!"

"So why can't I do it?"

"Bill is one of those people who likes highly stressful situations; that's why he's a curse-breaker. He also wasn't saving the world every other day."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it; I'm sure it will all be just fine."

"Right. So what do you think about Professor Lupin?"

"Oh, I love him; he's so intelligent and he really knows what he's talking about!" Hermione looked excited. "It's lovely having a competent teacher."

"You mean Lockhart wasn't competent?" Oliver smirked. Hermione glared at him. "Well, it will be nice to actually have someone who knows, what with Sirius Black on the loose." Hermione's face went from happy to worried in less than a second.

"Yeah," she whispered. She threw on a fake smile in order to swerve the conversation away from the dangerous territory of Sirius Black and back to the friendly conversation she had grown to love. "So, how are your Quidditch preparations coming along, being your last chance and all to win the cup?"

"Well, I have training tactics set up. I'll be getting the team together starting in October for a rather rigorous training program. We are definitely going to win this year; I know it!"

hr

Hermione had shown up at the exact right moment. The rains were torrential, and there was no way Harry was going to be able to see out of his glasses. She cast the spell, and upon returning the glasses to Harry, she looked and smiled at Oliver.

And what she saw was both wonderful and absolutely terrifying.

In that moment, she saw something in his eyes that she had never thought she'd see.

It looked as if he wanted to kiss her.

Hermione quickly turned away and walked towards the stands.

"Brilliant!" he called hoarsely after her, causing her to wonder if he had actually had to exercise self control in order to not kiss her.

hr

Hermione threw open the door to the showers, not caring whether it was appropriate or not. She heard the sound of running water, and began to march determinedly towards the sound, not taking any care to ensure that she was quiet.

The water suddenly stopped, and Oliver appeared out of nowhere with nothing but a towel around his waist. Seeing Hermione, he quickly double checked the towel and made to move out of her sight.

"Hermione, what are you doing here? This is the men's shower!"

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Wood!" Oliver stopped moving, and looked at her in disbelief. "Harry just woke up, and he feels bloody terrible about the whole thing, and you weren't there to tell him that it was fine, that you don't blame him. He didn't even know he'd lost you the game until ten minutes ago! And to make it worse, he lost his broom, which means that he now has to find another one, all because of a Dementor. And you are sitting here, drowning yourself in the shower because you lost the game!" 

"You don't get it, Hermione! We're done; we've lost our chance! There's no way that we can win the Cup anymore, which means I've failed as a Captain, and it means I may not get a job!"

"Except you ido/i still have a chance! I heard Fred and George talking about it. Something about a margin of a hundred points. If Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw, then you still have a chance!"

"Yeah, it means they have to lose by two hundred points, Hermione!"

"Stop moping. All the managers will look at is how you fly in tryouts. Now stop being an arse and get back in the castle." And with that, Hermione turned and walked back out of the change room and back to the castle, leaving behind a very shell-shocked Oliver.

hr

Hermione was completing her Arithmancy homework when she saw Oliver run into the library.

"Hermione! They lost! We're in the running still; we can get that Cup yet!" Hermione motioned for him to sit and be quiet, nodding her head in the direction of Madam Pince who was making her way towards him.

"They lost by three hundred points. So as long as we don't lose another game and play really, really well, we can win! I'm pumping the practices up to three days a week; there will be no way we can lose...as long as Harry gets a new broom and isn't on a Shooting Star."

Hermione smiled. "I told you, didn't I?" She looked back down at her assignment, scratching out another line that wasn't adding up.

"What's going on?"

"It's just that my number table isn't adding up, and I'm not sure why."

"It's because eight times three is twenty-four, not twenty-eight."

Hermione looked up and smiled. "Thanks. I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake."

Oliver shrugged. "It happens to the best of us. Come on, we're having a celebration in the tower."

"But I have to get this done for Monday."

"Come on, you have all day tomorrow to do it." He stood up and held his hand out to her to help her up. She took it, put her stuff away, and followed him up to the tower.

hr

"Why did you go and tell McGonagall about the Firebolt?" Oliver briskly walked towards Hermione, who was walking down the hallway, alone.

"Oh, not you too. Both Harry and Ron are not talking to me because of it; I don't need another person mad at me about it."

"Do you understand what you did? That was the only chance we had at winning!"

"I thought it was the players who made the team, not the type of broom they flew."

"Hermione, look at me." He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. "Yes, it is the players, but your Seeker cannot hope to win on a Shooting Star."

"But what if Sirius Black had given him the broom? It could be jinxed!"

"How on earth would he get his hands on one when he's on the run?"

"Look, they'll be finished looking at it in a few days, and he'll be ready to fly it by the next game; will you just give it a rest? It's not like I can undo what I did, and even if I did, I wouldn't. If you want it back so badly, go and ask her for it!"

"Don't think I won't!"

The two of them turned away from each other and marched off in different directions, both leaving the other seething.

hr

Hermione was, as always, surrounded by books. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun that didn't prevent the curls from escaping into her face; her fingers were covered in ink, and there was a strip of ink down her nose.

"Hey."

"If you're here to yell about the Firebolt, you can leave. I have too much homework to listen to yet another person yell at me about it."

"I asked McGonagall for it back."

"Oh really. I take it that it was fruitless?" She crossed out a word in her Charms essay.

"She said I had my priorities wrong. And by 'said', I mean 'yelled'. She said I clearly cared more about Quidditch than Harry's life."

"And why did she say that?"

"Because I told her that I didn't care if it threw him off as long as he caught the Snitch first."**

"You are unbelievable; you know that, right?"

"If I say yes, are we done fighting?"

Hermione looked up in surprise and then smiled. "Yeah, we're done fighting."

hr

Oliver found her crying by the same statue he had first found her by in her first year.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"I thought that once Harry had his broom back, the three of us could go back to normal, but now, Ron's rat is missing, and he's blaming me for it, and Harry is siding with him, and Ron hates me. I just feel as if everyone hates me."

"That's not true, Hermione, and you know that."

Hermione gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, I guess."

hr

"I didn't see you after the game."

"Ron was being an arse again. I don't know why I care."

"Because he's your best friend."

"He was my best friend; now, the only person I really have is you."

And in a sense, it was true. Oliver had become her friend when everyone else seemed to hate her. Even Neville was giving Hermione a bit of a cold shoulder. He sat through her hysterics over her course load and she listened as he told her about some new moves he had developed for the next game. However, no matter how lovely it was to have him around, it wasn't the same as having Harry and Ron. 

hr

Hermione threw herself around Oliver in the common room. "We won, we won!"

Oliver awkwardly hugged her back. Never had she just thrown herself at him like this. "I know! I did it! I still have a chance in the big leagues."

Hermione pulled away. "You had a chance whether you won that Cup or not. You are an amazing Quidditch player, and nobody would have said no."

"You do know what this means, though, right?"

"You make it into the public eye and you have hoards of girls all over you?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. It means I'm pretty much done. We sit our exams this month, and then it's over. No more Gryffindor, no more school Quidditch, and no more conversations in the library."

"Well, we aren't done yet, are we? As you said, exams are this month, but we still have a month, and even after that, you can always owl me." 

hr

Hermione rolled over and looked up at the hangings on her bed. But they were finished now. Every moment played out her mind like a movie. She didn't want to say goodbye. She didn't think she'd be able to live without him. But not saying goodbye, just letting him go, that would be so much worse.

She hopped out of her bed, her mind made up. If that had really been the last time she would see him, she didn't want it to end that way. She climbed down the staircase and looked for him, but the common room was empty. She turned around and went back to her bed. She crawled under the blankets, and began crying herself to sleep. It was in those final moments between consciousness and sleep that finally made her realise why it hurt so much. She loved him, and now, there was no way to let him know.

hr

The end-of-term feast arrived. Hermione was looking up and down the Gryffindor table, searching for Oliver. Finally, she spotted him sitting next to Percy Weasley, who happened to be sitting beside her. As everyone stood up to leave, Hermione reached in front of Percy and grabbed Oliver's arm. He looked from the small hand up to her face and smiled. Hermione smiled back at him. "Walk with me back to the Tower?"

The two walked side by side, making small talk. Once they reached the third floor, Hermione pulled him aside to the statue that they had met by in her very first week of school.

"Oliver, I don't want to have to say goodbye. Not now, not ever."

Oliver looked at her with a sad smile. "I know, but who says that this has to be goodbye? There are things called owls, you know."

"It's just that..." Hermione trailed off, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her face.

"It's just what?" Hermione shook her head. "Hey, it's okay to cry. I don't really want this to end either."

Hermione looked up at him, and saw that he was genuine. She let a single tear fall and looked at him. "It's just that I'm going to miss you."

She then hugged him, not like she had hugged him that day when they had won the Quidditch Cup; rather, it was a hug that left room for more, if he wanted it to. If he even knew how she felt. He hugged her back, but nothing more, and the two walked back towards the common room.

She didn't know where their relationship would be in the future, but she did know that she was happy where it was now. It was a friendship with the potential for so much more, and she wasn't ready to risk that friendship for romance, not when it wasn't plausible. So, instead, she'd wait. She'd wait for the right moment, the right time, the right circumstances to say those three words. But until then, she'd hold onto the friendship she had with him right then, for all great romances first start off as friendships. At least, that's what the stories say.


End file.
